


Fading From Tomorrow

by M1d2umm3r2N1gh7_R3nd3zv0u2



Category: The Late Night Crew, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Asexual Character, Blood and Violence, Butterfly Effect, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Pansexual Character, Possible Character Death, Psychological Horror, Puns & Word Play, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Survival Horror, Swearing, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-17 13:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1d2umm3r2N1gh7_R3nd3zv0u2/pseuds/M1d2umm3r2N1gh7_R3nd3zv0u2
Summary: If I had to describe the events of that day, I would have to say it was a blur. Yet, at the same time, everything was was as clear as a piece of glass. I have been struggling to survive-- We all have, but we never were prepared. How were we supposed to have known that the day we felt the most peace, was the day that the world would be silenced by chaos? Why do I feel like I've seen this all before...? (summary of whole story)





	1. Disclaimers and Nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! Welcome to my story, although this is just more pre-story information as to why somethings are what they are. Please read it over before continuing. Thank you very much!

**Author:** M1d2ummer2N1ght_R3nd3zv0u2

**Editor:** S. Sammy T.B. Tim (Kitty) (Quotev)

**Triggers:** Blood, Cannibalism, Character Death, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Heavily-descriptive gore, Inhuman Monsters, Multiple References to Music, Multiple/Possible References to Video Games, Murder, Psychological Imbalance, Possible Sensitive Topics, Puns, Stressful Scenarios, Sexual-Innuendos, Swearing, Violence.

**Genres:** Action, Adventure, Apocalypse, AU, Comedy, Drama, Fanfiction, First Person POV, High School, Mystery, Non-fiction, Psychological-Horror, Reader Insert, Romance, Survival-Horror, Tragedy.

**Notes:** To respect Cry's privacy - Cry's "real" name will be changed to Jack. I would sincerely like to not disrespect anyone as much as I can, so some slight censorship has been included to prevent any anger/irritation/or hate towards me and/or this story. Thank you for your contribution to help keep Cry's privacy intact and for reading this explanation as to why I will not use his real name in my story. You do not have to withhold from referring to him by his true name like I am, as I feel at ease for just posting this note.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the majority of the characters/real people mentioned in this story, as you all own yourselves and I'm not cool with slavery. I do not own any music that may be mentioned; they belong to their proper owners - the band and their label. I do not own any games mentioned except my own copies of the games distributed; they all belong to their rightful creators/companies/and studios. I only own my persona of you, the reader, the multiple enemies or future non-YouTuber characters introduced, and this story. Kitty also has credit to this story as she is my editor and contributes fine ideas and proposals to this story to help me make this more complete and interesting for you.

**Dedicated To:** All the other fans like me, but not including me.

**A Special Thanks To:** Kitty - my editor for working with me on the precursor to FFT called Zombie: The Destroyed Life, which I wouldn’t really recommend reading as I think it’s a terrible display of my writing abilities. However, I do hope that this revision will go strong through till the end, where my first try couldn’t fight anymore.

The Internet \- for making YouTube possible and a joy for everyone for more than ten years now.

The YouTubers who have brought us so much joy \- thank you for making videos and making us smile, and for giving others the courage and inspiration they need.

And a thank you to you guys who have read/reading/or will read in the future... Thank you, for picking up this dork’s work. See ya next time.


	2. The Beginning...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was going to be a good day, I felt it. But how could it all have gone so wrong from the start? Sometimes I wonder if there was anything I could have done...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are... Welcome, my friends, to "Fade From Tomorrow." Any and all constructive criticism is accepted, as well as anything that doesn't make sense story-wise-- I would appreciate your valued opinions! Without further a-do, please enjoy!

     The humid Florida air sailed through the open window of my slow-paced, quiet Algebra class. The sounds of pencils being sharpened or clicked, scratching across papers, the clicking and tapping of a calculator, and the hushed shuffling of papers and bodies echoed in my ears as I studied the blue sky out the window on my right. The August breezes fluttered atop the green maple, palm, and oak trees around our school yard, ruffling the soft lawn grass and rippling the pond beside the school. Every now and then, a strong gust would rush through the windows, combing through my (hair color), (hair length) hair and scattering working students’ papers to the floor and around the room. I heard my seatmate and best friend let out a hushed curse at the wind for startling him out of his focus and jostling the papers on his desk, muttering something along the lines of “stupid fucking wind.” I giggled slightly and turned to face him, a small smile appearing on my lips.

     “Having trouble with the gales, buddy?” He threw me an irked glare, sarcasm dripping from his words as he went back to reorganizing his worksheets, his leg bouncing exasperatedly.

     “Oh, har har, very funny, (Name). At least, I’m not the only one fighting a pointless war with the wind,” He gestured to the rest of the room with a flick of his head, bringing attention to other students frustratedly fixing their papers before settling back into a focused silence. I hummed in reply, watching him as he began working on the last few math equations and drum his fingers to some tune only he could hear. Once every few terms, he would glare enviously at my paper which was completed some odd ten minutes ago, before huffing and trucking on.

     I took this opportunity to observe my friend; he was wearing a black, Caribbean blue, white Monster Cat T-shirt, with a pair of acid-wash black jeans, and black converse sneakers. His raven hair was resting trimmed an inch short of the bottom of his nape, his bangs were parted to the right, and what was left of his bangs on the left were swept to the side and cut above the eyebrow. In a fit of rage, he furiously rubbed his eraser into his paper, then combed his hand through his hair as he tapped the eraser end of his pencil to his desk. His deep, stormy azure blue eyes peeked behind black oval-like frames that rested comfortably on the bridge of his nose. After a minute more of hurried pencil-scratching, he rested his navy blue mechanical pencil on his work, leaning back in his seat and arching his back in an attempt to loosen up.

     Going forward, he sighed in happiness and mumbled “just in time” as the teacher announced the homework while passing the sheets out. Shortly after, the last bell had rung and everyone rushed to pack their bags before heading out of the building, however - my friend and I took our time. We are both part of a crew that has been best friends since any of us could remember, some joining soon after the crew was formed. There are quite a few of us, all we do is hang out in one of the unused club rooms and set up one of the systems we’ve hidden in there, order pizza and play video games. The members are Russ, Scott, a dude we call Snake, Michelle, Kris, Felix, Marzia, a girl we call Red, Ken, a Junior nicknamed “Dodge,” my best friend who changed his name to “Jack”— sometimes called Cryaotic or Cry for short, — and myself. Jack and I sauntered out of our second-floor classroom and into the hall before Cry started tugging out his phone to text one of the crew. Suddenly, an all-too-familiar foreign accent called out to us from behind.

     “Hey, bros! Wait up!” Neither of us needed to turn around to know who it was, both of us glancing to the other, revealing a sheepish yet knowing smile before turning around to face our blonde-haired, blue-eyed Swedish friend speed-walking towards us. He was lanky, yet tall, had very pale skin and a bit of light stubble on his chin. He was dressed in dark blue jeans, black sneakers, and a light blue shirt with a darker blue fist on it.

“Hey, Felix.”

“‘Sup, friend?”

“Not much, just heading the same way you two bros are. How ‘bout you two?”

“Cry was having a hell of a time in Algebra II,” I mentioned as Jack elbowed me straight into the side, with no remorse. I bit my tongue, grasping my side while trying not to laugh at his reaction when the PA System went off, causing the three of us to jump out of our skin.

**“All students and staff still in the building, please report to the gymnasium immediately. Repeat. Please report to the gym immediately, this is not a joke or drill.”**

      The three of us exchanged glances, that doesn’t sound good. Curious, I wondered aloud, “Hey, were any of the crew taking gym last block?”

     Jack shrugged, unlocking his cell phone once more and scrolling through his contacts, then locked it before slipping it back in his pocket. After a moment of speedy typing and waiting, Cry finally had a reply. “Scott says that he’ll save us some seats on the bleachers,” He answered, pausing to make sure that he read the message correctly. We nodded, walking down the hallway using the route headed for the gym, as we went we started conspiracy theories about what this surprise gathering was about. The gym was still filling with students when we arrived, and the Principal looked like he was losing it. The Vice Principal and the main office workers were trying desperately to calm him down from whatever fit seemed to be driving him up the wall. We traveled hastily over to Jund, curious to hear if he had caught onto any solid conversation. Scott Jund was an average height, not too short but noticeably just an inch or two below Jack. His hair was swept in a frontward dark chocolate brown faux hawk peak, lightly tanned skin, and warm, earthy brown pools. Jund wore mostly black clothing with dark burgundy undertones, jeans and a pair of well-worn sneakers. He flagged us down, where he, Snake, Michelle, Kris, and Ken were waiting. Russ, Red, and Marzia were catching up behind us.

     “Hey, Jundas! What'd we miss?” Jund’s face was pale and he seemed hesitant for a moment, motioning to sit next to him. I sat with Jack sitting on my left and Felix beside him, allowing me to listen to Scott. He rubbed his neck, his voice coming out with an unsure waiver in his voice, “Alright, listen. I didn’t hear all that much, but from what I heard… I think a guy went psycho and they mauled someone on the football team, cannibalism and all. Doesn’t paint the best picture... But, I think that's all I managed to catch from the panicking.”

     I nodded, contemplating to myself what this could possibly even be. My mind involuntarily fled to Zombie Apocalypse genre stories, games, and movies like _World War Z_ , or _The Walking Dead_ but… What’s the chance of a Zombie Apocalypse in the real world? I shrugged to myself and looked around waiting for the mystery to clear even just a little, and suddenly I noticed something. In the window of the second-floor hallway that looked out into the gymnasium, was some… thing. Pale as snow, yet was decorated with a beautifully grotesque, deep crimson red. Splatters of blood. The hair was in patches and clumps, the body was mangled, torn, and looked like the violent remains of a wild beast's dinner. Whatever clothes it had worn before, became something out of a creepypasta, were all but unrecognizable at this distance. After a few seconds, I caught the thing’s eyes, watching it grin at an agonizing, deliberately slow pace with disgusting, monstrous teeth lined in its mouth. Then, it started slamming violently on the glass, trying with all of its unknown might to rid itself of the barrier between it and its next victims. My hand involuntarily latched onto Cry’s and he, too, had stiffened like a rock after following my dinner plate-sized orbs to the window where it had been, before running back down the halls of the school. The window remained painted with eye-catching, bloody red, violent strikes of a fist. He only gripped my hand in return, to offer me some sort of comfort, and caused me to return the favor. I turned to Jack, who mirrored my surprised, scared, confused, and paled expression back.

In a hoarse whisper, I spoke, “Cry… We need to tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

“Don’t pretend. We both saw that… Thing… We need to warn them. Now.”

     He bit the bottom of his lip before choking out a hard “fuck,” and shakily pulled out his cell phone to send a group text to everyone. As they read, they seemed slightly skeptical, some terrified, and that was understandable. Why would they not be even the slightest bit skeptical about a story describing the thing we just saw? Even so, I messaged them as well, “Please. If you trust us, we have a plan.”

If you trust us.

If it gets here, promise us you’ll run.

Get to whatever safety you can, get what you need, and get out of town.

We’ll meet in Gainesville.

Please, meet us there.

     They all stared me in the eyes, but something about my facial expression and the unsettling simple messages must’ve convinced them that it wasn’t fake. They all agreed reluctantly to stay safe and to meet us somewhere in Gainesville. The last part was something a little more difficult, and I managed to speak with a voice that sounded too calm to be my own, “The safest way… Is to travel in as small of a group you can manage. No more than two people, unless you think they are capable.” With this, they seemed to understand. It will be hard to find each other, as long as they get to Gainesville safely and find a place to stay until we all got there, there would be little to no information on where anyone was or if they were alive. Some looked as if they were about to cry out, “No! We should all just go together!” but I shook my head firmly, and they shrunk a bit in defeat.

     “Guys, this is hard for me too, but we don’t know anything about this monster. Maybe they’re like all we thought zombies were, maybe they’re nothing like we thought at all. Keeping yourself alive and reaching Gainesville as quickly as possible, can be done by going with no more than two or three people in a group,” I continued, clenching my fists at my side to stunt the fear in my system, “I don’t want to separate either, but this seems like the best way other than luring that —or if there are more of them out there— by traveling with twelve or so people in a group to Gainesville.”

     “Okay, but how are we going to defend ourselves trying to get out of here?” I nodded toward the other end of the gymnasium, conveniently by some fire escape doors, where the sports closet was located.

“Javelins, cheap compound bows with practice arrows, aluminum bats, shots, and discus,” those weren’t the best weapons out there, but it was all we had by us, “It’s not the greatest, but at least they’ll slow whatever that was down, or injure the thing pretty damn good,” I answer, the confidence was bubbling forth from an unknown well and began to surge into me. Suddenly, Felix seemed to hesitate, shaking like a leaf in winter, “Uhm, (Nickname)? Could you describe the thing you and Cry saw, again?”

“Why? I already told you—” A scream of bloody terror and filled with inhuman pain abruptly rose over the worried chatter of students, calling each and every person to the teachers that were standing before us. This monster wasn’t what I had seen earlier, it was a whole different kind of chilling that no one would feel in their normal lives unless watching a work of horror like _Poltergeist_ or Stephen King’s _IT_. It certainly was a football jock, however, his skin was a sickly ashen grey, with splotches of green. His arm looked as if mauled by a bear; bone, muscle, and blood poured from his now shortened limb, sloshing onto the birch-wooden floor in large puddles of thick, clotted crimson. His eyes were a deep red, and streams of blood were trailing from his eyes like tears; almost as if his blood built up behind his eyes. His irises were completely and utterly black, like peering into a dark abyss. His jaw seemed like it was constantly hungry, opening and closing as if anticipating the feeling of the flesh ripping through his teeth. This jock had been already stupidly tall, a hulking six-foot-four-inch teenager… There was no way the teachers were going to be left alive.

     The hulking mass of chattering teeth fell on top of an unsuspecting female teacher, biting her harshly in the jugular gland, causing blood to gush from her throat and proceeded to feast upon her quickly draining corpse. Instantly, more curdling screeches ensued as more of the biter-types stumbled into the gymnasium, leeching onto the quickly fading life of the teacher’s body while the majority of the student population seemed to be shocked-still in frozen horror. Just when I wondered if everyone was experimenting the possibility of them leaving when there's a lack of sound to lead them, one of the freshman girls found their voice and screamed an ear-splitting shriek. The Biters snapped their heads towards them and began shambling quickly towards them, the girls only screeched louder and began scattering, causing a chain reaction in the rest of the student body.

     I snatched one of Cry’s clenched hands, shooting up quickly shouting “Now!” to signal the others, and ran through the other students, using them as an unintentional cover to the sports closet. We all practically raided the closet, arming ourselves and mad-dashing out the emergency exit. I was armed with one of the newer javelins, Jack —who had now recovered enough to move on his own and speak— was holding two disks and a boys javelin. Cry had taken the lead at some point, and everyone was still in a visible distance. We raced down streets covered in the things I had now fondly named Biters, tearing up everyone and anything they could get their rotten, decaying limbs to grip on to. When we turned to head towards our houses, that was when everyone had split up. No one could be seen. All we could do now was hope and survive, preserving the thread of possibility that if we make it through this... So will they.


	3. Bite II: A Dead End?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something isn't right... No, no, no, NO! This is all wrong! None of this was supposed to happen...! Why did I have to-? SHIT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Senior year is kicking up... I gotta focus for a while so as in the tags don't expect any speedy updates like the ones I did yesterday and today. Thank you for taking your time to read my story.

    We felt like we ran forever, collapsing onto the floor of my living room with wheezes and gasps from our efforts to get our lungs to take in air properly once more. Running here had set my memory into even more of a blur; however, the fact that it was still real had not escaped my understanding. We had managed to coax my black Alaskan Malamute, Rogue, inside with us without alerting the Biters and the slightly faster ones to our presence. Rising to stand wobbly on my feet, I slowly crept to each door and window, locking them as well as pulling the blinds and curtains over them. Cry was currently trapped under Rogue on the rug, causing me to hold in a chuckle. I nudged Rogue lightly in the side, causing him to growl playfully, which reminded me to “train” him for traveling to Gainesville. 

 

“Cry.”

“What?” He groaned, muffled under the mass of black fur.

“Can you go around the house and pack supplies? After I get my dog off of you, of course.”

    Before he could even respond, I pried my dog off of Cry’s limp, relaxed form and held Rogue close to me. Jumping on to his feet, Cry smiled, and stroked Rogue’s head. Leaving me and my dog in the living room, the raven-haired male began his scrounge around the rooms. 

 

    I sighed inwardly, holding Rogue’s face in my hands and looking at him with a serious face. His tail seemed to droop, as if understanding that he needed to listen, “Rogue, you can’t bark anymore, okay? Small noises. Growling is fine too,” The black fluff-ball looked confused, and I wondered if I was crazy for thinking he could understand. However, I still wanted to try. 

    “Rogue, we’re going to be going on a long trip, and probably won’t be coming back. I want to bring you along, but you have to listen to me, okay?”

 

~{>*<}~

 

    Cry wandered around upstairs after getting a decent-sized duffle bag and backpack from (Name)’s room, checking every drawer and cabinet he could. Except one room, with a runny trail of liquid coursing from under the door and pretty far into the hallway. The strong, metallic smell was sickening; Nothing like the “sickly sweet” scent described in fictional stories. No, this was a bitter, almost curdled and expired smell of something decomposing. He wanted to avoid it at all costs— at least, until he had a better weapon than his shitty javelin. For every careless step he took on the black oaken wood floor, a thud against the floor or wall would enact from that one room. He was getting harsh chills up and down his spine when he realized that he could hear labored gurgles from inside, as well. 

    “Fuck me…,” He muttered under his breath, fiddling nervously with the strap of the duffel bag draped across his chest. Staring at the door intensely, he hesitated to charge in there and get it over with but decided to go downstairs and explore for a weapon before taking his chances.

 

~{>*<}~

 

    I was captivated by Rogue’s ability to make multiple sounds that wasn’t barking or growling, almost like the cooing of a bird mixed with a very flowy lilt until I heard Cry’s seemingly hurried footsteps thumping down the stairs. I could hear him wander through the main hallway and into the kitchen, and dig through the drawers. Standing and ordering Rogue to stay in the living room, I sauntered into the kitchen, watching Cry scour through each drawer in curiosity. He eventually turned to face me, jumping from surprise and throwing a hand over his heart, “Holy shit, (Nickname)… Jesus fucking— Why’d you have to scare me like that?” 

 

“I wasn’t trying.”

“Then don’t just stand there without saying anything, I almost thought I was in  _ Call of Cthulhu _ or some shit again…”

    I huffed, “Fine, anyway… What’re you doing, digging so eagerly through my kitchen?”

    He twitched in hesitancy, even though he seemed to anticipate the question, finally pulling out a long, sharp, silver knife my family used to cut watermelons with. He seemed to be stalling, twirling the knife in his hand like a pencil, or rather he was thinking of a way to tell me what was up. After a few more minutes of his indecision, he either gave up or solved it with great difficulty as he heaved a heavy sigh.

    “There’s a room upstairs that I’m not getting any good vibes from. It doesn’t help only that door, and the hallway up to it, doesn’t look fun at all,” He paused to stop fiddling with the knife, noticing that he had almost nicked himself more than expected as he effortlessly twirled it’s balanced shape in his grasp, “I’m going to check that room, but since it doesn’t look friendly I just wanted something to help me in case there was something there that’s not supposed to be there.” 

 

    At this I nodded slowly, taking in the vague description with all the right pieces to understand that there was a danger to it, and it’s in this house. Cry then started moving forward— back upstairs— leaving the supply bag on the black granite kitchen counter. Without really thinking, my hand gripped the tail of his plaid over shirt that was now covered in speckles of dried, clotted blood of the damned things outside, successfully stopping him. He turned to me curiously, an eyebrow raised and his glasses-clad, clear azure eyes slightly relaxed at the knowledge that he wasn’t going straight upstairs.  I gulped, choking down any fear and looked Cry dead in the eye, “I’m coming, too.” 

 

“Nope.” He frowned, speaking firmly, yet having the nerve in himself to pop the “p.”

“Yes, I am.”

“How do you intend to protect yourself?”

    I glanced at the basement door, feeling the cogs in my mind turn as I tried to remember what Dad kept down there, “My Dad’s gun case is downstairs and I know the password for it.”

    He seemed mad suspicious, but they were the only weapons I knew of that would be key to our long-term survival, which meant that we needed them to be there. I started shuffling my way over to the basement door, to the left of the kitchen entryway and without waiting for Cry. I turned the knob casually, but with a trace of being guarded, and flicked on the basement light. I hadn’t even made a step down the stairwell before being assaulted by the smell of death— warm, decomposing, and sour. Steeling my nerves, I stepped forward, creeping down the stairs with the tense form of a cat watching its target. The only sound that reached my ears were the spine-chilling creaks of my own footfalls, and Cry’s footsteps following behind me. Other than that, trying to hear anything beyond the silence was making my ears ring. 

 

    Eventually, we had reached the end of the stairs, greeted by the sight of my own father’s Biter-turned corpse splashed against the concrete wall to my left. My hand quickly came up over my mouth, if only to keep myself from vomiting at the putrid scent that invaded my nostrils and made my eyes water. I was numb to the tears running down my cheeks, as I was numb to Cry leading me by a comforting, firm grip on my shoulder to the room with the gun case. Though, just from my father’s destroyed carcass, I could tell that the gun case was unlocked and possibly raided. We entered cautiously, seeing as a pitch blackened room was not the most inviting. Turning the lights on in this room, too, we were met with the gun case open and empty except for some boxes of ammunition to Dad’s black Desert Eagle. All the ammo to the family hunting rifle and the gun itself was also missing from the case. 

   I swallowed harshly, feeling nauseous from the pungent stench, this time leading Cry back up the stairs and closing the door quietly. I shivered when the stench didn’t dissipate, not realizing that Cry had left me alone to investigate on his own. Eventually, I decided to find him again, only to find him standing in the living room looking like a statue. When I had come to stand beside him I immediately understood. There was my dog, dead upon the carpeted floor. His flank was pulled open to reveal his ribcage and his organs, blood puddling around the corpse of my family member. I could only blame myself, I had told him he couldn’t bark anymore. Cry trembled terribly before grabbing my hand angrily and tugging me along with him upstairs, tightly gripping the gleaming knife in his open palm. He was going to avenge my dog, even if we were to die in turn. I was trying to call out to him, but it was like he was deaf as we raced to the closed door and busted it open. What had awaited for me, was another little beast like that I had seen at the school, except I had now recognized what “it” was. My mother had gotten bit by my father when she came home, and killed my father before turning herself. She had the two guns and all the ammo sprawled around the room, and she sat in the middle of the room, feasting hungrily upon the intestines of Rogue. She had snapped her attention to us when we had exploded into the room, her once luscious brown hair now dulled and ratty, spinning around her bloodied, carnivorous face. I had entered a further state of shock that resulted in my subconscious dive for the hunting rifle beside the door and the handful of bullets scattered near my feet.

 

     Cry had apparently shouted my name before starting to swing at the monster that was my mother, my sudden jolt of movement startled the cannibalistic creature to attack. He managed to lodge the blade deep into her shoulder, while I fumbled with loading the gun with the rounds, jumping away to attempt dislodging his only weapon. The weapon eased out of the now squishy muscle of the speedily rotting woman, not even able to bleed from the wound. I had pulled the gun up to aim, however, my whole body was trembling like I was experiencing my own personal earthquake. I pulled the trigger, missing and ending up breaking the bedroom window instead— the shattered glass flew through the room like shrapnel. During the misfire, the abomination had managed to grab Cry and was proceeding to try and get a bite out of his shoulder. I struggled to reload, eventually aiming to hit the Biter with the butt of the gun. Cry had managed to successfully push the she-zombie off, however resulting in his own head to be placed in the target area of the heavy swing.

     The room suddenly seemed to go into an insufferable silence as the sickening “snap” that had come from his neck echoed loudly, dragging through my mind as if to taunt me. My eyes were wide in unbelievable shock as I couldn’t even bare to remove my eyes from the body of my best friend, whose head now rolled on his chest and his body sliding to thud against the floor with an even louder grating sound. I dropped the gun, bringing my hands to my face and proceeded to hyperventilate, all I could mutter over and over was “no way.” 

 

    Falling to my knees, I felt limp, numb, nonexistent. I couldn’t see through the thick blur of my tears enough to know how fast my end, too, was approaching. I didn’t need to know. I knew that it would come, I knew it wouldn’t leave me alone and let me suffer in silence. I felt bony, slimy skin and phalanges push me to the ground, and the vague sensation of someone taking a large chunk of skin from my stomach. I couldn’t even scream, as I felt the blood draining from my torso as the Biter dug farther. The deeper it dug, the farther I could feel my consciousness float away, and in a short time the wet, snapping and slurping seemed to suddenly… 

 

**C U T  O U T .**

 

**D E A D  E N D**

WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AGAIN?

[ YES? ]      NO?

  
  



	4. Listening To The Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in this world that has started crumbling around me... There are still many tasks to be done, so many wishes yet to be fulfilled...

My vision blurred for a moment, my ears were ringing and my limbs felt sore beyond my comprehension, triggering my brain to wonder why. As my brain was trying to sort out this confusion, I felt a wave of deja vu, jerking forward to grab the tail of the dirty, blood-speckled fabric of his plaid over shirt, stopping him from moving away.  
He turned to me curiously, an eyebrow raised and his glasses-clad, clear azure eyes slightly relaxed at the knowledge that he wasn’t going straight upstairs. I gulped, choking down the sudden desire to ask him if he felt this way too, and instead allowed my eyes to bore directly into his alluring, calm pair, “I’m coming, too.” 

“Nope.” Jack frowned, speaking firmly, yet having the nerve in himself to pop the “p.” Again, feeling slightly put-off at the annoying tug in the back of my head.  
“Yes, I am.”  
“How do you intend to protect yourself?”  
I glanced at the basement door, before turning and calling Rogue over, who gave a whine and trotted over expectantly.   
“Rogue was trained as our guard dog, he knows how to protect. Besides, my Dad’s gun case is downstairs and I know the password for it.” 

He seemed suspicious at first, but the idea of actual firearms was enough for him to gesture that I should lead the way, I hadn’t even made a step down the stairwell before being assaulted by the strangely familiar smell of death— warm, decomposing, and sour. Steeling my nerves, I stepped forward, creeping down the stairs with the tense form of a cat watching its target. The only sound that reached my ears were the spine-chilling creaks of my own footfalls, Cry’s footsteps, and Rogue’s careful pawsteps following behind me. Other than that, trying to hear anything beyond the silence was making my ears ring.   
Eventually, we had reached the end of the stairs, greeted by the sight of my own father’s Biter-turned corpse splashed against the concrete wall to my left. I stared at it for a couple of minutes before kneeling and praying, paying my respects to my one and only father. Standing, I felt even more determined to survive, to live for my family that couldn’t make it. My calm demeanor seemed to surprise Cry, while Rogue just sniffed the corpse and whined softly, his fluffy tail curled around his legs with his head pointed down and eyes closed. I examined my father’s destroyed carcass, I could tell that the gun case was unlocked and possibly raided. Entering the workshop, I flicked on the lights and immediately scoured the room. We were met with the gun case open and empty except for some boxes of ammunition to Dad’s black Desert Eagle. All the ammo to the family hunting rifle and the gun itself were also missing from the case. 

After checking Dad’s body once again, I had found and pocketed his bloody Desert Eagle along with the remaining ammo. I swallowed harshly, feeling nauseous from the constant pungent stench, this time leading Cry back up the stairs and closing the door quietly. Rogue whined quietly as I let myself shed a few silent tears, Jack pat my back soothingly before leading me to the staircase. We moved slowly, cautiously, listening carefully for any noise on the second floor. As we made it to the landing, I realized what Cry was talking about; Blood soaked the hardwood floor, thick and old to the point of turning black, leaking from the door at the very end of the hallway. My hand gripped tightly around the Desert Eagle, not fully realizing that the gun felt too light to be loaded. Arriving near the door, Jack grabbed the knob, hesitating but for a moment. When he twisted the knob and tugged the door towards him, the door flew open with a weight that was unexpected. Both of us landed on the sticky hardwood with a thud, the weight of both Cry and whatever was leaning against the door nearly knocking the wind out of me. Jack let out a strangled gasp as he wrestled with the weight atop of him. 

Hearing a foreign, yet familiar gurgle and growl as he struggled set up the warning flag in my system: There’s a Biter on top of us. While Cry struggled with the thin yet powerful, and small body on top of him, I wriggled my arm out and shot back when it was free. With Jack’s head now between my knees, I struggled to reload, eventually getting the bullet to fit inside the slot of the gun. Raising the gun to aim through the sights, I was just about to shoot when Cry managed to push the Biter off of him. He was panting heavily from the force needed to push the needy body off, and glanced towards me. I swallowed harshly and lined the barrel with the Biter’s head while it was still dazed, mumbled out a hoarse, “I’m sorry, Mom…”   
The gunshot rang out like an echo in a cave, my ears were ringing and my mind began to shut down. Rogue panted as he whined softly, nuzzling his cold, wet nose into my neck and I scratched his neck absentmindedly. Cry seemed dazed staring in shock at the mutilated corpse, barely registering the sound of me shifting my weight to curl into a ball. Legs pressed tightly against my chest, my head buried in my arms. When he snapped out of his daze, he scrambled over to my side, holding my numb, tear-stained face in his hands. He kept searching deep into my eyes, trying to find any notion of snapping out of this paralysis, before he gathered me into his lanky arms. He pressed me against him, in such a way that it prodded my senses to move just enough to embrace him back, his hold so secure that it seemed if he held me too lightly I would disappear somewhere without him.

“C...ry,” I choked out, realizing that the strain in my voice was from the suppression of my whimpers and sobs, “Jack… I’m okay.”  
Cry shook his head, which was buried into my collar bone, his hold becoming a bit tighter yet still warm and comforting. Coming more so to my senses, I could feel his shoulders quaking just a bit. Slowly slipping my pale, blood-flecked fingertips into his hair, I began to play with it and hummed softly. After ten minutes of gentle coaxing to let me go, he revealed an unreadable expression. His eyes were bubbling with so many complicated emotions, but overall was the expression of guilt and comfort. I gave him a lopsided grin, expressing to him that I was okay now, my mother was no longer forced to roam the Earth as one of them. I gently brushed some hair out of his eyes and whispered, “Everything is going to be okay.” 

Neither of us could figure out whether it was to comfort him or myself.

*~(~*~)~*

It had taken an hour and a half to pack one decently sized travel bag and one smaller one; the larger bag filled with blankets, clothes, food, water, and medicine. The smaller was filled with ammo, smaller weapons, and essentials like flashlights, matches, hairspray, lighters, and other such things. I had walked back to my bedroom, remembering that I had a real katana usually just for display, as well as my recurve bow and quiver of arrows in my closet. I locked my bedroom door, for a moment of privacy, changing out of my cute, but uncomfortably ruined clothes. Wandering around my room, I put on a whole new set of underwear, a pair of black shorts, some black thigh high stockings, a long, (favorite color) but comfortable tank top, and a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater with a cool collar piece. I took things from the basement after going down there another time to make sure we had all the ammo; like a black leather gun holster for the black desert eagle, a green weapon clip-backpack, and a little bag for hunting bait that I filled with treats for Rogue instead. Strapping the holster on my dominant leg which matched my dominant hand, and tying the bait bag on a belt loop on the back of my shorts, I moved my clothes from the large duffel bag to mine. I also moved the medicine into mine since I was almost positive that Cry didn’t know how to do emergency first aid.  
I packed a journal where I had written about important herbs when I took a semester class about herbology, dug out my (favorite color) converse sneakers, and pulled my (hair length), (hair color) hair into a braid. [if it’s not that long you either put bobby pins in for convenient lock picking or put your hair into a ponytail.] I heard a knock at my door, standing and unlocked it, I watched as Cry nudged the door open and grinned, “You ready to go yet?”

“No, I was just about to make a list of stuff to look out for.”

“That’s easy. Food, clean water, medicine, ammo, weapons…,” Cry listed, using his fingers to keep track and eventually trailed off.  
“Well yeah, those are constant items we need… But I was thinking more like clothes, maps, a small generator if we need one, tarps, a gallon gas container and a syphon tube, batteries… The good stuff, y’know?”

Cry rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile, “Right…”   
As I wrote the list, an idea suddenly came to me, “Cry, can you look around for a roll of twine? I could have sworn we still had some stored somewhere…”

Without a word Cry saluted me and marched out the door, taking Rogue with him to hopefully sniff out the twine. Left alone, I sat back against my bed and let out a heavy sigh, examining my bedroom walls. My bedroom was a theme of (favorite color), with a dark shade of (favorite color) as the rug and dark wood furniture. Covering most of the painted walls were posters from various bands, video games, and anime一 most of which Cry jokingly pretended to put his stamp of approval. My blankets, of which I packed into the duffel bag, were Pokémon themed. Glancing around the room, I suddenly felt desperate to find something to take with me, to never forget, something precious. As my eyes searched, they fell on the (favorite color) jewelry box that Mom had gotten me for my fourteenth birthday. Rising and slowly approaching it, I opened it gently, revealing all the jewelry I had owned but never really wore. After rustling around a bit, I found the one piece of jewelry I adored more than anything; a long silver chain carrying the weight of a golden circular locket with a silver moon fancily engraved into it. Opening the locket revealed the picture of Mom, Dad, Rogue, and I, smiling together when we got Rogue as a puppy. I felt my chest tighten and the stubborn tears sting the corners of my eyes, slowly slipping the necklace over my head to lay around my neck. After considering how shiny it was, I slipped it under the collar of my shirt.   
Closing the jewelry box forever, Cry walked through the doorway holding the twine and smiled slightly when he saw me. He tossed it to me and I quickly got to work after removing the scissors from the smaller bag. I neatly folded my clothes and stacked them on top of two crossing pieces of string, then tied the ends together into a tight knot, effectively squeezing the pile into a more compact square. Placing it back in my own bag, and proud at how much space was freed up, I moved on to the blankets and the pairs of my dad’s clothes that I’m letting Cry use until we stop at his place. After finishing, I placed the twine in the smaller pack and threw the bag into the duffel bag for Cry to carry. Before leaving my bedroom, I almost forgot to grab my iPod, earbuds, and solar powered charger. I gathered them all quickly and tucked them in my personal pack before rejoining Cry in the hallway. Flies were starting to gather around the corpse still laying there, causing Cry to look a little green at the memory of having to shove it off.

I looked around somberly, memories dancing through my head and the faded voices in my ears. Knowing that those days would definitely be forever lost, I snatched Dad’s keys to his black 2014 Nissan Frontier and cracked the blinds of the living room windows facing the front lawn. So far, it looked clear, something must’ve attracted a lot of them down the street. Shuffling to the windows facing the backyard, I peeked through the blinds, showing no signs of activity around the shed or yard. Cry, who was waiting patiently, looked to me with an expectant expression as if he could tell I was planning something. Rogue stood with his tail wagging and his tongue lolling in and out of his mouth as he panted.   
“If we’re gonna be on the road, or getting ready for it, we’re gonna need something to hide whatever bonus supplies we get from scavenging. For that, we’re going to need a pretty big tarp or two, and some really strong rope, not twine,” I mused, glancing back out the window to scan the treeline beyond the fences.

“Ah, so we just need to get into the shed and look around right?”  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
“That’s a lot simpler than I was expecting,” He chuckled to himself, and I smiled too.   
“Not really, cause I need you to cover me in case something happens,” I grin reassuringly as I give him my loaded desert eagle, my other hand reaching over to the door knob. Cry looked extremely nervous, all the pressure resting on him to keep me safe from inside of the house. Rogue stood poised and excited at my feet, acting as if he hadn’t been outside in years. Taking a deep breath, I jerk open the door and skitter across the short way to the shed, glancing around carefully while Cry does the same. I quickly opened the shed door and shut it behind me after letting Rogue slip in, and I took in the view of the shed.

The shed was a bit roomy, and kinda empty, with multiple rows of shelving. In the far right corner sat the emergency generator, and beside it was a gallon gas tank and a tube. Opposite the generator, there was a box labeled “tarps” and then another under it labeled “hunting traps.” To the left of the boxes stands a little workbench, covered in various tools and materials. There were drawers in the workbench that had various different labels; Scissors, nails, bolts, rope, crowbar, multi tool, and lock pick cases. Hanging on a makeshift coat hanger were various pieces of protective wear, including a pair of goggles that could pass you off as a biker, as well as a well-used, but decently-sized messenger bag. The walls were smooth wooden planks with staining, making it look nice and shiny, even if the floor was covered in the efforts of daily labor.   
I slipped the messenger bag off the hook and set it down on the workbench before zipping it open, opening the scissor drawer, then the drawer labeled rope, and the last one supposedly containing the handy lockpick stash. Slipping the items into my bag, I then began to move the box on top of the tarp box and set it out of the way. Popping up the lid of the box, I took the four largest inside and set them next to the messenger bag. Closing the lid and returning the previous box, I snatched the gallon container and the syphon tube, removing the tube and placing it in a separate bag before tucking that into the messenger bag too. Swinging the pack over my shoulders, I tucked the four tarps under my arm and grabbed the gallon container with my free hand. Rogue, who had been sitting quietly while watching me move busily around the shed, stood ready to go back outside when I had placed my hand on the shed’s door handle. I rolled my eyes slightly at my adorable, naive dog before pushing forward to reveal the sunset shades tinting everything in sight.


	5. Bite IV: The Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll miss this house. All these memories, and now the hearts of those who left me behind. It's a long road ahead of us, it's all we can do to make sure that we are ready for it. I wish this was all just a dream...

As I slipped across the yard heading back to the backdoor of my old home, Rogue wandered beside me, constantly sniffing the air as if he wasn’t sure if the scent he found was a threat. His ears suddenly pivoted upon his head to the side, his back and haunches arching up in a defensive, intimidating stance. His tail seemed fluffed up in preparation to attack, though it dared not so much of a twitch, a low yet attentive growl rising from his chest and rattling deeply in his throat. The next was almost all a blur; as I turned to check Rogue, a rotten, sun-cooked smell of decomposing flesh assaulted my senses, soon followed by a thin and fragile limb jutting out to grab me from behind. Instinct reacted far faster than my mind did, causing my arm to suddenly jab into the body behind me. Just before I could fully turn around, the familiar ball of black fur bounded from his spot beside me to lunge at the enemy, knocking the already struggling body to tumble over onto the ground with little to no effort. I made a dash for the back door, and whistled to a high-pitch key, summoning Rogue to follow me back into the house. Cry was watching from the slightly peeled-back curtained window beside the backdoor, quickly opening it to allow us entry before the Biter could rise from its position in the dirt. 

He easily grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside, Rogue managed to squeeze inside just before Jack’s foot kicked the door closed. I stayed still, my eyes saw spots from the rough landing and my brain was like white noise on a TV screen. For a moment, all I could register was my haggard breaths and the fact that there was a soft, warm, and somewhat scrawny shape pressed skin-to-skin below me. In my heightened state of awareness, I lept to my feet thinking I fell on top of a Biter corpse, dropping the gas canister with a hollow thud and large tarps that I was holding before Cry wheezed out a barely audible, “(Name)... I swear to god.”

Slowly returning to a more calm state of mind, I looked at Cry who was splayed across the floor in a heap. His hair was wild and all over the place and his eyes still looked hazy from the harsh collision. I withheld my chuckles and held out a hand for him to take, unable to hide the warm grin spreading across my lips. He held a palm to his head and groaned before taking my hand in his. Groaning and wobbling, he managed to ground out a question, “... Did you manage to get everything…?” 

“For the most part. There were some boxes that I’m still debating over but, for now we’re alright.”

Jack sighed and whistled, unintentionally causing Rogue to give a little whine as if to ask what he needed. Jack chuckled softly and pat the dog on the head, then gave a long, dazed stare outside the window. I sat the messenger bag on the counter and left the tarps and gas can on the floor, passing by the middle of the living room with a glance to all the bags we brought down.

From there I cautiously shuffled to the front of the house, Rogue and Cry trailing behind me, and I drew the blinds back a little to check the area around the coal black 2014 Nissan Frontier. It seemed as though the Biters were trickling back down the street, slowly and with no particular destination in mind. They mostly seemed to be on the other side of the street, but if we tried to get to the truck and start it, we would definitely draw a crowd to us. Dad’s truck was definitely not the quietest vehicle to start. Out of nervous habit, my fingers lightly drummed the windowsill to an unknown tune, as my brain thought about the best routes to go about the subject of the truck. Cry knelt next to me and lifted the blinds just enough for him to peer out as well, his eyes thoroughly scanning the street, “What are you thinking about in that brilliant brain of your’s, friend?”

I scoffed a little in a moment of playfulness, before speaking in a pondering lilt, “Either we pack the truck first while the cost is more or less clear and stealthily knock-out the ones that are close enough to notice us, or we start the truck now and pack everything into it after we clear the ones we draw in. As I say this, I’m thinking that the first option would be better, because once we get everything in it and secured… Then we could literally just hit and run all those fuckers out there.”

“I place my bets on the first one. The second idea sounds like a shit show,” Jack mused with a sarcastic tone, sneering at me from the corners of his eyes.

“Well then, we should pack up the bed of the truck first, since that’s where we’ll most likely sleep. We will have to pop the door of the trunk and crawl under the camper shell so we can keep the shell to discourage other looters,” I paused an idea being birthed into light, “i’ll fill a few small cans with nails and pebbles and toss them as hard as I can down the street to lure them away from the truck so we can pop it open and one of us can stay in the bed so they’re none the wiser.”

“I’ll get the bag with the bedding and take it all out so then we have another bag to use for more stuff.”

“Perfect. Set it by the window closest to the back of the truck and I’ll make the distract-cans,” Winking as I emphasized my pun, eliciting a weak sigh from Cry and a string of reluctant chuckles. We both pulled away from the window, Jack going to the living room to go through the bags and I went to the kitchen. I opened the messenger bag and pulled out all of the supplies I had thrown in it, cursing silently at myself for not remembering that I left the nails in the shed because I was going to double-back there later before we finally set off. Abandoning the messenger bag on the counter after replacing all the items back inside, I decided to help Jack to quicken his task so he could help me with mine. As I waltz into the living room, I see Cry sitting crisscross before the open bag with the blankets neatly placed in front of him, his thumb and forefinger cupped around his chin and a bit of his mouth as he glared at them in thought.  
“What’cha thinkin’ ‘bout, pal?”

Jack lurched forward slightly as his whole body seemed to have rippled in suppressed physical surprise. He angled his face just enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye, his attention refocusing on the bundle of blankets as his fingers rubbed the material thoughtfully, “I was just thinking… This might be too little to make the truck bed remotely comfortable enough to not constantly get sores and muscle strain,” he licked his slightly chapped lips in further wonder, “especially if we plan to go further north after reconvening with everyone in Gainesville.”  
I bobbed my head in agreement.

He’s not wrong in saying that sleeping on that bed for however long we’re traveling is going to hurt like a mother after a few hours. 

I poked his shoulder, smiling, “Well, we can use my parent’s blankets and sheets, and the sleeping bags in my closet. I’ll also toss every single pillow that is owned upstairs.”  
“Cool, I’ll stack them around the window.”

I rushed excitedly up the stairs, painfully aware of the corpse that lay stiffly in the middle of the hallway and the foul stench quickly filling the air. I turn back to Cry, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me to toss a whole bunch of linen and cotton at him, easily grabbing his attention.

“Okay, so this is a really nasty thing to ask, but do you think you can help me escort the rotting body of my mother to the backyard so we can give her a proper burial?” I couldn’t help but scrunch my nose at the thought of having to touch the slimy, decomposing flesh without a layer of rubber or a pair of gloves to play mediator-of-contact. Jack’s facial reaction was not much different, visibly shuddering with a reluctant nod. I smiled slightly, trying to tease him but the underlying tone of seriousness kept him from laughing, “We’d need to do it for my dad, too.”

Cry climbed the steps of the stairway and took one arm of the carcass gingerly, totally grossed-out from the texture, and I followed suit hesitantly. We carefully dragged it down the steps, making sure the body wasn’t going to randomly come apart from the edges of the stairs bumping into the soft skin repeatedly. Tugging it to the backdoor, I checked the yard through the window, seeing the Biter still swaying as it stood some distance away. I raced quietly to the living room to retrieve a screwdriver that was already bent in the neck of the metal, deeming it useless enough to be sacrificed. I carefully pushed the door open enough to test the Biter’s range of hearing, gaining no response, while Jack stood with the pistol in his grip. Deciding that it was now or never, I slipped through the jar of the door and hurriedly crouched over to the wobbling, unstable body. Once I was right next to it, I stood quickly, the skinny body turning to investigate the movement it saw as I swung the screwdriver so that the bend aimed the point right into the cerebral cord. The corpse suddenly spasmed violently as it collapsed to the ground, seizing until it was nothing more than a few phantom responses in the fingers. I decided not to try to remove the screwdriver, as there were more in the shed’s toolbox. 

I stayed by the biter’s still frame to observe the area, making sure that there were no more that had seem me, and saw no movement and was met with silence. A few chirping birds in the trees allowing a gentle calm to settle over the atmosphere. Returning to Cry, I held the door open for him so he could drag the body out and lay it next to the wall of the shed. I signaled him to follow me while Rogue stayed in the house, laying peacefully beside the backdoor to wait for our eventual return. We entered the shed and Jack was slightly speechless at the amount of room this shed had. I snorted opening the drawer that was filled to the brim with loose, old nails and boxes of different kinds of nails, “I know that my shed is impressive, but anytime you could help me by lining up a bunch of tin cans would be wonderful.”

Once he forced himself out of his stupor, he went around scouring high and low, producing an old box filled to the brim with them. He handed them one at a time, as I set to work peeling them open, filling them with some sawdust that Dad kept a bag of to use as kindling and a handful of nails, then taping them closed with duct tape and punching a few nails through the sides of the cans. I made up to ten of them before wondering if we should keep just the material and then once we get to Gainesville scavenge for tin cans or use the cans from eaten canned food. I shrugged before making ten extra ones for the road. Putting the box of tin cans away, I sealed up the bag of sawdust and stowed all the nails into a large plastic container, and then into the box with the disarmed hunting traps. I pushed that box over to the door of the shed, while taking the box with the remaining smaller tarps and shoving the tape, multi tool, crowbar, all of the tools from the toolbox, and a carjack into it and handing it to Jack. 

I picked up the other box before setting it down in hasty realization, rushing over to the crappy emergency generator and tugging out a box next to it, filled with scrap electric cables and extra electronics. He let out a few wheezy chuckles of amusement at my expense, heavily humored by my detailed planning. I dug deep and sorted through it, fishing out a few flashlights and a whole package of batteries for them. I tossed them into Jack’s box, not missing the excited look on his face when he saw all the spare batteries for them. Hoisting my box back into my arms, I shouldered the door open enough to check the area quickly and then held it open for him once more. We tread carefully, making sure that the content of the boxes wouldn’t settle and make noise or the nail cans rattle. Cry opened the backdoor and closed it once both of us had entered the now comfortably familiar silence of my home. Rogue, attentive at my feet from our return, tilted his head as Jack and myself busily shuffled into the living room to place down the boxes of extra supplies. 

I turned to face Cry, sighing from the labor, “Okay, now let’s raid upstairs.”

Waltzing up the stairs and leaving him to stand at the bottom, I returned to my bedroom to glance around for extra blankets, the sheets catching my eye. Wrapping the thin cloths around my arm to make a sheet-Mega Man gauntlet, I strode over to my closet and towered the pillows and extra smaller blankets in my arms. Returning to the landing of the stairs, I threw them haphazardly at the teen waiting patiently below. The blankets draping about him and preventing him from seeing the pillow that socked him right in the face. Muffled curses and empty threats tumbled from the boy’s lips as I returned to my closet, attempting to carry all three sleeping bags that were tucked inside in my clutches. I settled instead to hold two under my arms like sacks of potatoes and kick the third across the floor in a game of soccer all the way to the landing where I kicked it roughly over the edge. I watched Jack catch it clumsily and rolled the other two down the stairs, going back down the hallway and closing my bedroom door. I went across to my parent’s bedroom, peeling every piece of cloth from the mattress except the mattress cover itself. Teetering precariously back to the waiting boy as I deposit my findings. Snatching the pillows and going down the steps to join him on the first floor, we carried all of the blankets and sheets to the living room so Cry can organize them into separate piles of blankets, pillows, and sheets. 

I grabbed the messenger bag on the counter, the gasoline canister, and the large tarps and bring them to the window before taking the bag with me upstairs to scavenge the room that my mother had passed away in. The room was an office with a dark, forest green that seemed to calm my nerves that were still shivering at the charge of remembering the encounter earlier. The setting sun was visible through the office window and gave the room a beautiful amber glow, the specks of dust shining with a brighter orange that made them look like glimmering embers in the shafts of light. Casting my gaze to the grey rug, puddles and droplets of aged blood had turned the bland carpet into a grotesquely captivating image. Like splatter art. The darker layers and the lighter layers looking like a flower and its petals floating away in an imaginary wind. Strewn about the floor were cases of ammunition and the guns that were snatched from the gun cases in the basement. Carefully plucking each and every stray bullet, box, and clip, placing them into the bag. I tenderly took the hunting rifle, and another pistol from the ground. Wandering back to the living room where Jack was now giving attention to Rogue, his fluffy belly exposed so Jack’s palms and fingertips to massage and scratch it. 

I tossed the guns and the bag onto the pile and stood before Cry, mumbling softly, “It’s time to bring my father from the basement so that he and my mother can be buried together.”

He glanced to the side in a moment of remorse, his eyes slightly hazing with the faintest mist of tears before rising to stand. The three of us made our way to the basement door, once again descending into the nauseating smell. Cry hoisted the body tenderly by his arms while I had the legs, Rogue followed behind as if to make sure if the body fell apart that he’d let us know. We then brought it up to lay beside the smaller corpse, and after finding a shovel for each of us, we dug as quickly as we could. Glancing at my watch revealed that it was about six o’clock sharp, meaning we had about two hours before the sun hits the horizon. Digging a shallow grave of four feet ate up about twenty minutes, laying the bodies inside and completely replacing the dirt on top of them took about the same. I used two wooden metre sticks and tied them in a vaguely cross-like shape, plunging it into the ground at the farthest edge of the crude burial mound.

“They may not have been amazing parents, but they were damn good ones. They brought me into this world and cared for me and even taught me how to look after myself. Even if they were sometimes too strict, they did good by me and my friends. They will be missed and I hope they are finally resting peacefully in the afterlife.”  
Jack was silent during my delivery of their death speech, only going to give my hand a reassuring squeeze as I gazed up to the golden sky with an unreadable expression. I squeezed back after a few minutes of silence, “C’mon, we should probably try to get the most of this shit packed into the truck before it gets too dark.”

We returned to the living room, and peeked through the blinds once again, finding that there still weren’t too many wandering the street. Three way down the right side of the street, and one just stumbling from the left side of the street. Of all of them, that stray was the one closest to the truck. I lifted the blinds all the way to the top of the window frame and secured it in place, before unlocking the window and lifting it all the way open gradually and as noiselessly as possible. Once the window was all the way open and no attention had been attracted, I snagged one of the nail cans and vaulted tediously over the windowsill. After I landed steadily on my feet, I surveyed the movement of the Biters vigilantly. Creeping at a snail’s pace over to the other side of the truck to avoid detection from the nearest stalking, shambling enemy, I glued myself to the wall of the house. Once safely on the other side of the truck, I stood and gave my best outfielder’s pitch and aimed for distance rather than height, managing to get the nail can to strike the pavement between three or four houses down the street opposite of my location. I could hear the metal jingling inside as it continuously rolled down the street, and then louder ringing as the Biter kicked it in it's quick shimmy to chase the source of the noise. 

Quickly rounding back to the truck gate, I popped it open quickly as to lessen the duration of the noisiness and lowered it with a weak murmur as the hinges gave only a whisper of rebuke. I edged around the corner of the truck to make sure the Biters were still at the far end of the street and made my way back to Jack, leaping back through the window with ease. I gave Jack the larger of the sleeping bags, a ‘king size’, and the queen size to take with him first. He climbed out of the window fluidly, almost like it was the easiest thing to do, and less gracefully belly crawled under the camper shell. I could hear the faint, deliberately cautious shifting of him moving around the truck bed to lay out the sleeping bags and waited for him to call for more. This was going to take a while… 

~*(~*~)*~

I had finally given him the last of the pillows, and closed the truck gate firmly but just quietly enough not to flinch as we both quickly retreated back through the house window. We had propped up the glass window to the shell before Cry got out so we could toss the bags with the clothes, flashlights, toiletries, tarps, and some weapons. The sunlight was a dark burning red now, we had an hour and a half to and hour of light left to work with and some of the Biters started to shamble back up the street, thanks to the creaky joints of the old camper shell window and the sound of the truck gate locking in place. We now had the hard part of packing the truck ahead of us. We have to open the passenger doors to the truck to pack the rest of the shit inside. Those aren’t so loud to open as to close them. Closing the passenger and driver doors to this truck is second to starting up the damn thing on the loudness scale. 

I fiddled around with one of the nail cans in my hand somewhat, wondering if I should try to lure them away again or if we’d be able to shove the bags through the back window of the actual truck. We definitely wouldn’t be able to get a cooler to fit through it, that’s for damn sure. I had prepped the cooler in between giving Cry the bedding for our make-shift living quarters. We didn’t have much ice, despite still having electricity enough for the ice-maker to go off crushingly loud, but it was enough to store a night or two’s worth of perishable food like fruit and drinks inside. The canned goods were stacked nice and neat in a sealed cardboard box. The tarps would be used to hide everything from view, it would be a cheap trick to keep scavs from going through the trouble. Even though I’m going that far, there shouldn’t be too much panic since this outbreak is still, assumingly, only hours old. The rest of the country will still be civilized and that’s what we’re going to travel to find. Anywhere but fucking here. The Biters aren’t really active unless something draws its attention anyway, mostly sound and movement. 

As I turn to Cry to suggest the next step, I notice that two of the wandering Biters are traveling decently close to the truck, about the middle of the street. If I were to jump out of the window now, and the can were to jingle just the tiniest bit… I would be walking thin ice. I tsk and watch it some more, almost thankful that a clueless squirrel had made its way to the open lawn of the house directly across from mine, causing the Biter to turn around and limp over to it. I take a calming breath and repeat my maneuver of slipping out of the window and clutching the nail can to my chest, crouching to the more open side of the truck which is facing the front yard down the right side of the street. I whip the nail can about the same distance, but since there’s a downhill that way, it probably drew them quite a way away. I watch the one that had its back to me snap its head in the direction of the clamor, racing slightly faster than the others down the street. I took a deep breath and sighed with a slight tremor of adrenaline. I hit the unlock button on the truck’s keys, and thanked whatever higher being above that the unlock sound was the softest sound imaginable. I busily popped the passenger door open on the side I was still hiding on, clearing out the unneeded garbage from my father and tossing it lazily onto the grass behind me with barely a sound. 

Old papers, trash, some gross Tupperware, some cans, but otherwise the truck was almost brand new. Feeling the tug of an excited smile being brought to my lips I slipped back into the house to Jack who was waiting. 

“Let’s get the damn cooler in the truck first, cause that’s probably the heaviest load we have.”

Hoisting it carefully through the window, Cry went first and then myself after, as we carried it calmly and patiently to the open door. With a soft grunt, we managed to fit it between the back of the driver seat and the floor, leaving the back seats still open and the floor space behind the front passenger seat. From here, our pace picked up easily, each of us carried two bags at a time. 

The duffel bag with the clothes, medicine, and first aid kit were shoved through the camper shell window along with the smaller tarps. I had also tossed the ammo bag and the hunting rifle in the truck bed, so Cry had a weapon. The re-curve bow, quiver of arrows and my katana were shoved in a corner of the truck bed with the hunting traps. The box of canned food was set on the floor behind the passenger seat, and the gas canister and messenger bag were put on top of the box of remaining tarps sitting in the back seat. The duffel bag that used to have the blankets was put in the back seat for scavenging, and then we secured a tarp over all the stuff so that people couldn’t see it. A blanket that was too small for us, but big enough to cover the secure tarp, was laid for Rogue to rest on in the back seat. I also put the remainder of the nail cans in the back seat, except for three; I had two and Jack had one. Once we were satisfied, we closed the passenger door. I dove into the house quickly to grab Rogue’s bag of dog food and dog bowl, putting it in the bed of the truck before closing the camper shell window and locking it. Cry and I returned to the inside of the house, to watch the streets in the fading light. The door seemed to have only drawn two of them, but there was no way we could leave now when the sun was basically gone. If we turned on the headlights and drew every un-dead creature in the vicinity, we’d have a fucking hard time trying to stay quiet about it without guns. 

Since it was about 8:30pm, we decided that we should get some sleep before driving to the outskirts where Jack’s apartment building was. Closing and locking the window, locking the truck without care of how many un-dead it would attract, and the backdoor of the house, then finally lowering the blinds. We settled down for the night on my soft, plush couches. Our sleep was restless, as we tossed and turned for the majority of the night, anxiously waiting for morning while our minds were on high alert. The night was going to be long and dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holllllllly shit. It's been months. My first semester at college is almost over, thankfully, Next week is my last week of finals, wish me luck everybody... x-x Hopefully, after next week I'll be able to update this story more often, still gonna be slow because I have a minimum rule of seven pages worth of content (using Google Docs) to make sure I'm really advancing the plot here. Hope you guys continue to look forward to the next chapter! Thanks for all the love!


	6. A Life Still Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I might just be crazy. I might be a risk-taker. I might be a lot of things, but I know I won't let anyone sink down into the depths of despair. I will bare all the strength I poses and become your shield. I might not be enough, but at least I can help.

I woke up with a jolt. Sweat was painted over my skin in a cold, thin layer of slime, and I rubbed at it with the cloth of my shirt. Sitting upright, my eyes adjusted to the faint light seeping through the blinds from the still functional street lights adorning the road. I briefly wondered how long the electricity would be outsourced to the public grid in our area, and if that would be a signal that this city is doomed. My eyes darted over to Jack’s lazily splayed body on the floor where he must’ve rolled on to in a fitful search for a comfortable position, soft purring of his snores weakly tumbled from between his thin chapped lips. Rogue was curled up on the floor by where my head was resting on the couch, deep, sluggish rise and falls of his flank gave away his slumber. I checked my watch to find that it was only four in the morning, having at least two more hours until dawn started to dazzle its bright rays over the chaotic city. 

I crossed my legs and tucked them beneath me, curling close to myself as I tried to think back on the nightmare I just startled from. I didn’t remember much, only knowing that I had caused Cry’s death. I drew in a shaky sigh, combing my bangs out of my eyes with my fingers and wondered if all of this was affecting me more than I felt. Lazily rising from the comfy sofa, I padded over lightly to the window, peering through the blinds ever so slightly. The street was decently cluttered with the shambling, wandering bodies that were meandering in no particular direction. They seemed to all be relatively far from the truck that we all could probably get in and close the doors before having to peel out of here. I glanced over to where Cry was out like a light, and the two nail cans I made on the side table beside his head. As I thought about if I should wake him up now or later, my hands had found the ball of twine we left by the floor of the windowsill for the stronger, thicker rope. My fingers and palms fidgeted and twirled the string around as I thought. Suddenly, a strike of lightning danced through my mind; the birth of a risky but well-worth idea. 

I crawled my way over to Cry, snatching the nail cans and the pair of abandoned rusty scissors, and returned to my seat under the sill. I punctured a hole in the side of both cans, tying a thick knot at the end of the double layered twine, and stringing the open end through the inside of one can and into the other before tying the knot on the end. Closing the nail cans back up, I delicately picked up the long stretch of twine between the cans and lifted it until it was off the ground, listening carefully to how much sound it made. Thankfully, it wasn’t much. I took Dad’s old satchel that he left hanging on the dark oak coat hanger in the front hallway, and settled the nail cans inside so that they would make the least noise when they shifted against my hips. I made my way to the window, and checked to make sure the immediate coast was clear, which it was. Before I could open the window, Rogue had quietly trotted his way beside me and gazed at me expectantly. 

“Rogue, stay here. If Jack wakes up, and sees the both of us gone, he’s gonna flip his shit and do something rash,” My fluffy baby whined softly, as if begging for me not to leave him here.

I rolled my eyes slightly, patting him on the head and shimmied out from the window once more. The sky was a dim sapphire and the barely rising sun cast a gilded shine of gold along the seeable horizon. The street lights flickered slightly, but that was just how these old lights behaved. I quickly traveled down the sidewalk to my left to the front of my neighbor Ol’ Mr. Howard’s home, quickly encroaching on his prized, pine green Porsche Carrera GT. As I leaned over the door of his car, just enough to see what was inside, I could see the keys to this very car glinting lightly in one of the “secret compartments” of the driver’s door. 

Poor Mr. Howard never knew just how loud he, and his wife, hollered over where he “misplaces” his keys every damned day… I couldn’t help but chuckle breathlessly in subdued amusement. I ducked back down, and waddled over to the back of his beloved car. I rolled onto my back and peered curiously over the many pipes that lined the underside of his vehicle, appraising each one to figure out which would be best to use. Eventually, I settled for the inner exposed axle for the car’s rear wheels, and tied the stretch of twine as securely as I could around it. I placed the nail cans gently on the ground, ensuring as little sound be made as possible to this car until I could execute my plan. Traveling back to the front of this car, I slightly lamented the fate this car would have once this phase ends, but then grinned mischievously as I snagged the key from the windowless car. I stuffed the key into my pocket for the time being, and glanced around for a cinder block or a decently sized something with a good amount of weight. I doubled back to my driveway and snatched a brick from our front flower beds, snaking back to the car. 

Finally, I climbed over the door of the car just enough to shove the keys into the ignition, take the car out of park and into drive, and then dropped the brick like it was on fire on to the gas pedal. I quickly rushed away and into the bushes that separated my yard from Mr. Howard’s to watch as the cans rattled crazily all the way down the street, drawing the attention of every biter on the upper part of the street. Clapping gleefully to myself as I hurried back through the window, startling Cry who had just started to wake from his dreams. His eyes bugged out frantically for a moment before his gaze cleared and recognized me, and he practically deflated into the sofa. 

“Holy shit… Why’d you scare me? I just woke up-,” He whined, his brain still turning on the gas, then suddenly as if he just noticed, “wait a minute… Did… Did you just fucking come in through the window?”  
“Yes, I did. I’m so glad you still have some amount of cognition left in you,” I picked up Rogue into my arms and beckoned Jack to rise from the couch and join me by the window. I waited until he was close enough to hear, and excitedly chattered, “We need to go now. Rather, need to, more like we can, but I want to go now so... Let’s go!”

Without waiting for a reply or even a sound of acknowledgement, I disappeared back through the window and carefully lead the way to the truck. After pulling the key out from my shoe, I unlocked it and pushed my dog inside, I closed it while listening to make sure the teenager of dorkiness was awake enough to follow me. I saw him struggling with the concept of windows in his half-dazed state, and while helping him out I pushed him to the passenger’s seat. Clearly, he will not be driving in his current state. After rounding back to the driver’s seat, we got our seatbelts on and finally departed from my house. 

As we drove along and Jack occasionally giving directions, we tuned in the radio to listen to the news. 

_“It seems that the whole south-eastern coast of America has fallen to these strange reports of superhuman, zombie-like humans attacking the cities and towns. It is unknown how quickly this strange infection is spreading through the country, but there seems to be some reports of this same type of attack happening along the tropical islands around Florida and Cuba. The northern and western states have offered shelter to non-infected survivors, and many medical way-stations have been erected. It is unsure whether the President will be placing quarantine zones along the state borders. Starting from North Carolina, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Texas…”_

“Fuck… It’s going to take at least six or so hours just to get to North Carolina by car. I hope this doesn’t spread much farther else we’ll be living a shitshow for sure,” Cry groaned, his consciousness sobering up upon listening. I could feel my own heart becoming slightly down at this revelation, however, the amount of damage can only be prevented when the government, army, and medical care can figure out how this even happened in the first place. Until then we’re stuck living like this… A few more minutes pass by and soon we can see Jack’s apartment complex just a few blocks down. I pulled the truck into a crappy alleyway, letting Rogue out before blocking up the camper window with the tarp again. We jogged to the entrance of the building, observing how empty the streets of the outskirts felt. 

There were barely any cars parked in the street, and the air felt stiff from the lack of movement. Cry tried the front door, and groaned in disgruntled agitation at the door sturdily jiggling in place. The door, I remembered, was an electric one that needed a key to unlock the security lock anyways. With the power-grid being down on its last legs in the outskirts of the city, I wasn’t surprised that the door was immovable. I tugged Jack’s sleeve and pointed at the car garage entrance, and we slowly creeped towards it’s gape. Without electrical power; its depths were deep and dark, but we descended without anything more than an exchange of nervous glances, a gulp, and a click of a flashlight to illuminate our way. 

“Before we try the stairs or elevator, do you want to scour the lot and see if your mom’s car is still here?”

“Huh, sure. It should be right near the stairs, she always aimed to get that spot every time,” Cry grunted with a slightly gruff chuckle, his voice barely above a whisper in the concrete parking chamber we wandered. We paused a few times to consult with the signs drilled into the ceiling beams to make sure we were headed to the stairwell, Rogue sniffing and leading the way before us. Soon enough, within a couple minutes, we had made it to the stairwell. We stood just outside the door and I swept the beam of the flashlight slowly across the parked cars. Jack’s eyes danced across them briefly before shaking his head, “I don’t see it, but it doesn’t mean the car’s gone or that they managed to escape.”

I hoped for his sake and theirs that they had.   
But if they didn’t and they were bitten, I hoped they took the easy way out.

He had gone quiet for a short moment, and I slung my arm over his shoulder, tugging him close in a reassuring hug. He leaned against me and let out a tight sigh. I pulled away with a ruffle of his hair and walked to the door to the stairwell, my voice ghostly and pillowy, “C’mon. Let’s go.”

We climbed the stairway for a long while, it was hard to keep myself from humming in the silence. Finally, we reached the very top level. Cry was about to just open the door and walk into the hallway when I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. I shuffled to the door and delicately pressed my ear to its cold surface. I held my breath, blocking out the sound of Rogue’s soft panting, and I waited. 

_Thump.  
…_

_Thump.  
…_

_Thump.  
…_

My heart was in my throat, and it’s pulsations wracked my body more than normal. Aside from that. All there was… was perfect, stagnant, _silence_.

I twisted the knob experimentally, to see if it would cause the silence to shift, but even still, the silence continued otherwise unbroken. Pushing forward, the hallway was revealed. It was messy, but more importantly, had a lack of bodies. The doors to some apartments were wide open, while others looked like they were broken down from the outside. There were articles of clothing, papers, even towels strewn about. A quick moment of decision allowed me to click my tongue—a trick trigger for Rogue from when Dad and I went hunting—and Rogue jumped forward and started patrolling the hallway. When my fluffy boy hadn’t made any strange growling or sudden movements, I started walking forward. Cry matched my pace for a moment until almost at the very end of the hallway where he reached his door. He was still for a moment as I clicked my tongue again to call back Rogue, and when I turned towards him, I realized it was because his door was the only one closed. The thought of him opening the door only to be attacked or killed took over my senses for a brief moment, and my body slipped between him and the door, opening it before I could stop myself. 

The room was just as trashed as the hallway, but there was no signs of scuffle or death. Jack shoved past me with Rogue following excitedly in tow, tail wagging wildly. Jack’s figure dashed hurriedly across the layout of the apartment, and just as he it looked like he was about to anxiously cry out for his family I had closed the door to the apartment to assure a mental state of privacy and had found a note pinned to the back of the door. 

“Cry! Don’t yell. They aren’t here.”   
He instantaneously whipped around to face me and hysterically shrilled, “How the _fuck_ do you know?!”

I stepped to the side so he could take notice of the note on the door, and he filled in the space beside me so that he could read it.

_Jack,  
If you are seeing this note that we left behind, then you will know that we are safe. Your sister, Alexa came home and let us know what was going on since she drove to school. We took her car, and packed our necessities, to drive to New York where your grandparents live and stay there until this breakout hopefully comes to a resolute end. Nathan is with us, don’t worry. He wound up having no school due to a Teacher’s Workshop Day. Oh, and AK, your cat, is with us too. We’re all safe. If you manage to safely travel to New York, be sure to find us. In case you don’t remember, your grandparents’ address is…_

As he read, I took ahold of his hand and rubbed small circles on the back of his hand with my thumb to help soothe him, a small smile twitching the corner of my lips, “See? They’re fine.”

His breathing hitched a bit, and when I was about to pull away so that I could wander about the apartment, he suddenly wrapped me in his firm arms. They were warm, but quivering due to his struggles for even breath. I pat his back gently, mumbling, “Hey, it’s okay. Things have been pretty stressful, so don’t keep it in and unwind.”

He practically crumbled into a sniffling mess, his head dipping to nestle in the crook of my neck. His tears were warm as they rolled off his cheeks and onto the cloth of my shirt. His short, ragged breaths fanning through the thin cloth of my turtleneck. After a few minutes, Rogue whined softly, just enough to get out attention. This startled Jack out of his moment of weakness, quickly pushing himself away from me as he pulled off his glasses to hide his now probably red-rimmed, swollen eyes. I smiled and called softly to him, “You should go wash your face. I’ll screen through the kitchen to see if they left any food, containers, and any helpful cooking tools behind.”

The poor boy merely nodded slightly, quickly shuffling over to the hallway bathroom. Once the door fully closed, I sighed softly to my ball of floof beside me. I sighed wistfully once more, shaking my head a little, before beginning my scavenge around the apartment. I wandered into the roomy kitchen, opening drawers and shelves to take stock of what was left behind.


End file.
